


Perfect

by FearfulSymmetry



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Dark, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearfulSymmetry/pseuds/FearfulSymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘This victory … it’s … satisfying. Comforting. But it’s not right.’ </p><p>Shepard fires the Crucible and destroys the Reapers, but something is off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect

The kickback of the gun sends a ripple of pain down her arm that makes her eyes water, and the shots ring shrilly in her damaged ears. _One more bullet. One more._

Her vision is marred by steadily growing black spots, a vivid reminder of the fact that her time is limited. Anderson is lying crumpled in the control room, but for now, she is still breathing. And she intends to end this war once and for all.

_Dead Reapers are how we win this._

_Yes._

The force shocks through her arm as she empties yet another round. For a moment, nothing happens. Then everything goes out in a blaze of orange.

The darkness feels like a strange kind of mercy, and Shepard welcomes the escape it offers.

 

* * *

 

Shepard has always been honest with herself, at least, and she is not about to abandon her principles in death. So, truth be told, she expected there to be less pain. She also imagined death would be preferable to lying broken in the dust somewhere. So far, there does not seem to be too much of an improvement.

Shepard is just beginning to consider whether she actually ended up in hell after all, when something occurs to her. 

She doesn’t remember any of this. The last time she died there was darkness, too. But in that dark, there was peace. In that dark, she felt safe and complete.

Her brain works on that one for a while. Deep thoughts prompt an ache she is not too keen to confront. But the pain brings another jolt of memory. All of this is wrong. She died before. She knows what death feels like, and this is not it. That leads her brain to splutter on in a final series of thoughts, only one of which stands out to her clearly: _she is alive._

So she opens an eye. And then the other one. When the blurriness abates, Shepard finds she is looking at the sky. That confuses her. How did she get back to Earth? A sharp stab of pain behind her right eye reminds her of the amount of damage her body suffered, and so she decides to abandon that chain of thought. There will be time enough for theories and explanations later. Right now, she will simply lie back and watch the sky. It is not quite as comforting as death’s darkness, but it will do for now.

After a while, she realizes she is holding something.

Later, when she raises the shattered fragment of what was once a weapon to her face, she discovers her hand is missing a finger.

Later still, her tired brain informs her she will never reliably fire a gun with that hand again.

Much, much later, she forgets to care.

When she once again becomes aware of her surroundings, a hooded figure hovers over her battered body. The figure’s curiously painted lips move, but Shepard’s brain has long since given up trying to understand what’s going on. The face is comforting, at least, and the image burns in her mind’s eye even after her real eyes have closed. The words ring inside her head, repeated over and over again, until there is an orchestra of voices all around her, singing a tribute to her in a language she can no longer understand.

_‘Admiral, we’ve found her.’_

* * *

 

The next time Shepard wakes, she finds herself in a well-lit room, and the sound of an engine hums in her ears. For a moment, she imagines herself back in the captain’s quarters of the Normandy. If she can just manage to turn her head to the right, she will be able to see the blue glow of her fish tank.

But there is no fish tank, and the only blue that catches her eye is that of Hackett’s dress blues, his admiral’s stripes shining ominously in the too-bright light of the med bay. His smile is warm, as though this is just another mission she has successfully completed and the world hasn’t just been changed permanently.

_This isn’t Elysium, Shepard. I don’t need a hero._

 ‘I see you’ve recovered,’ he says, in a bizarre echo of that debriefing so long ago.

Shepard cracks a smile. Her jaw feels like it has been ripped in half. Hackett steps closer and stops beside her bed. ‘Depends on what you call recovered, sir.’

Something flashes in his eyes for a brief moment. It is enough to make her wonder what shape she is in. Her hand rises, unbidden, on its way to her face. Then, she is reminded of the void she noticed before but did not _feel,_ and she tries to get her hand atop the blanket so she can take in that loss, too.

A firm hand on her arm stops its upwards movement. ‘This is not necessary, Commander.’

‘It is, sir,’ she replies, fighting uselessly against his grip.

‘Let it rest for now, Shepard,’ Hackett says, lowering her arm to the bed. _I don’t need a hero._

‘Sir –’

‘We were all very relieved when Miss Goto found you,’ he continues, paying no heed to her futile struggles. ‘An explosion that size … We didn’t think anyone could make it. But then you’ve always done the impossible.’

That prompts a memory. ‘How _did_ I make it?’

Hackett shrugs. The gesture seems strange on him, but then, everything seems off at the moment. ‘It’s hard to say. There were no witnesses. But you did what you had to.’

Yes, that is true. She had been willing to defeat the Reapers whatever it took. Which is why she had blown up the -

‘The Reapers!’ Shepard shouts, struggling to sit up. ‘Did it work? Are they gone?’

‘Easy, Commander,’ Hackett says soothingly, pushing her back down into the covers. ‘It worked. You did it. They are gone.’

Shepard lets out a breath she has been holding for years. ‘I can’t believe they’re really gone.’

‘It’s a lot to process, Commander,’ Hackett continues in that calm voice of his. ‘It’ll take some time to sink in. But you came through, as I always believed you would.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ A sudden tiredness is pricking behind her eyes, and Shepard blinks to keep the sleep at bay. There is one more thing she needs to know. ‘What about the Normandy, sir? Did they make it?’

Hackett’s expression is carefully blank as he answers her. ‘We’ve received no communications, Commander. It seems that whatever energy blew up the relays also damaged our long-range communication systems. There’s no reason to think something went wrong, though. They probably made the jump through the relay just fine.’ He offers her a small smile. It is not enough to dispel her worries, but she appreciates the effort. ‘I’ll let you know when we get our communications running again.’

‘Thanks, Admiral.’ Despite her best effort, Shepard can’t entirely conceal a yawn.

Hackett is quick to notice. ‘I’ll leave you to your rest, Commander. We can work out the details when you next wake up.’

Shepard wants to nod, but her head feels too heavy. She can only watch as Hackett fades out of view, his piercing eyes the last thing to go.

 

* * *

 

When Shepard comes to again, there is silence. The lights in the med bay are dimmed, and her breathing sounds hollow in the empty room. She is alone, with only her ghosts for company.

_You did good, child. You did good._

Shepard raises her right hand. Tries her fingers.

 Little finger. Ring finger. Middle finger.

Thumb.

_I’m proud of you._

But why does the victory feel hollow? Why does her head spin with half-remembered thoughts? Why does her missing finger ache to pull the trigger to a gun she hasn’t fired? 

_I don’t need a hero, Shepard._

Shepard blinks as her eyes adjust to the darkness and she becomes able make out objects in the sterile room. Her ghosts flee along with the worst of the darkness, but so do her thoughts. Her useless fingers twitch in the air as her brain tries to grasp at shards of memory, attempting to glue something back together that has never fit right to begin with.

It’s all wrong. The blood of 300000 Batarians drips from her hands and the screams of a million more innocents ring in her ears, but it’s not enough.

 

* * *

 

When Shepard manages to stay awake for longer stretches of time, Kasumi comes to visit her. She appreciates the effort, but the thief’s jokes resound emptily through the stretches of the void that has become her mind. Shepard clutches the bed sheet, trying to discreetly inspect her maimed hand.

Kasumi notices. ‘It’s a lot better than when we found you. You looked more dead than alive those first few days. The Admiral was worried sick.’

That surprises her. ‘He was?’

‘Yeah. I think he felt guilty about what happened to you. I suspect that’s why he ordered his ship to remain here, even though we weren’t sure what the Crucible might do.’

Hackett ordered his ship to stay in the Sol system? It makes sense, given the speed with which he arrived to find her, but it is still unexpected.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she protests. ‘He can’t assume responsibility for everything that happened here. The Reapers waged war on us, not the other way around. He just did what had to be done.’

‘Maybe.’ The sudden voice from inside the door opening all but makes Shepard jump. ‘But you went out there on my authority. I pushed you to complete missions no soldier should ever have to start. I encouraged you to forge alliances in hopes of heading off a conflict a thousand years in the making. And most importantly, I made you the tip of the spear. That makes you my responsibility.’

‘Admiral.’ Kasumi is on her feet even before Hackett finishes speaking.

‘It’s all right, miss Goto,’ he says, stepping fully into the room. ‘I’d like a moment with the Commander.’

‘Of course.’ Kasumi leaves the room, waving a quick goodbye to Shepard with hands that move almost too quickly to make out.

The Admiral takes the seat by her bed. ‘Miss Goto’s work on the Crucible has been invaluable.’

 ‘Yeah.’ Shepard tries to sit up straighter, but the movement sends a sharp stab of pain down her back. Hackett stands without speaking and helps support her until she is sitting up. ‘Thanks,’ she says, as his hand leaves her shoulder. ‘I’m glad so many of them made it.’

Hackett catches the subtext in her statement. He sits down on the edge of the chair, his closeness a gesture of both familiarity and support. ‘I’m sorry, Shepard, but long-range communications are still out. I haven’t heard from any of the ships beyond the Sol system.’

‘I know,’ she says, looking away. Perhaps that is why the victory against the Reapers feels hollow. Most of the people she’s been fighting with, and fighting _for_ , are now firmly beyond her reach. Hell, she can’t even be sure they are alive at all.

‘We’ve established a team to work on repairing communications,’ Hackett continues. ‘If it’s something on our end, they’ll find it. We’ve also got volunteers investigating the Sol relay, people who are good with tech. They’re trying to discover what sort of energy the Crucible released, and how we should go about fixing the relays.’

‘Already?’ Shepard asks, surprised. ‘Has there been time for that?’

Hackett looks at her with the air of someone who has bad news to share and isn’t quite sure how to say it. His words to her on Cronos station repeat like a mantra in her head. _This isn’t Elysium. I don’t need a hero, Shepard_. Her fingers tremble, all but the missing one.

‘Commander, you … Shepard, it’s been two months.’

She doesn’t know what she expected to hear, but this isn’t it. ‘What? Two months? But … Two _weeks_ I could understand …’

Hackett looks concerned.  ‘It was bad. When I first saw you, I … Well, you weren’t all there anymore, Shepard, and I thought we’d come too late.’

‘Yeah,’ she sighs, looking down at the missing finger that distracts her quite well from the missing piece of her heart.

The sudden pressure of Hackett’s hand on hers startles her into looking at him, but he only nods at her before standing. Shepard has the brief urge to salute him, before remembering that she is in a med bay, and that Hackett doesn’t require a report and a ‘mission completed’ for a bedside visit. Hackett is making his way back to the door. ‘Take care, Commander.’

‘Yeah,’ she tells his retreating back. ‘And Admiral?’

‘Yes?’ he asks, looking over his shoulder.

‘Thanks for saving me.’

 

* * *

 

Shepard has not been allowed out of the med bay before today, and her impromptu walk is starting to take its toll on her leg. In her eagerness to leave the prying gaze of the doctors, she has ended up in a part of the ship she hasn’t seen before. She pauses and leans against the wall, rubbing at a knee that is not quite as irrevocably damaged as her finger, but is still a far cry from being fine.

At the end of the hallway, one of the doors opens, and Miranda Lawson exits the room, looking more tired than Shepard has ever seen her.

‘Miranda,’ Shepard says, a smile finding its way onto her worn-out features.

‘Shepard, it’s good to see you.’ Miranda steps closer to her and clasps her hand. ‘I’ve been worried about you. It’s good to see you’re doing better.’

‘I’m fine,’ she lies.

Miranda lets go of her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Shepard, but I’ve got to go. Admiral Hackett can fill you in on my work.’

Shepard realizes only then that Hackett has exited the room as well, and is patiently leaning against the opposite wall. ‘All right, take care, Miranda.’ Somehow, it is not surprising that even after the war has ended, Miranda Lawson is still too busy to talk.

‘I’ll see you later, Shepard.’ Her former XO steps aside and hurriedly makes her way out of the corridor. Shepard watches her retreating form until a cough behind her reminds her of the Admiral’s presence.

‘I had not thought to see you up already, Commander Shepard,’ he says, stepping closer.

‘I needed to get out of the med bay,’ she shrugs. ‘I’m beginning to regret leaving in such a hurry, though.’

Hackett smiles knowingly. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Shepard? I’ve been meaning to speak with you anyway.’

Shepard lets herself be ushered into the room Miranda has just exited, feeling much like a puppet that has seen better days. Hackett points towards one of the chairs arranged around a table, and Shepard gratefully sinks down into it, stretching her throbbing leg. Hackett sits down next to her.

 ‘Do you remember I told you we have people looking into the destruction of the mass relays?’ he begins, meeting her eyes. ‘Miss Lawson is a member of the team working on that. As a matter of fact, she was the one who came to me with the request a few weeks ago. I told her that if she thought she could find a way to fix the relays, I’d give her whatever resources I could scrape together.’

‘Miranda’s the smartest person I know. If anyone can do it, it’s her.’

‘Yes, I got that impression. I’m glad to hear you confirm it, Commander.’ Hackett’s eyes search her face. ‘How are you feeling?’

His gaze is strangely intense, and Shepard finds herself reluctant to lie. ‘My knee’s healing slowly, but according to the doctor, I’m doing well otherwise. Except for the finger, of course. That’s still gone.’

‘You need to take your rest, Commander.’

‘Yes,’ Shepard says, agreeing but not promising. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

Hackett sighs and leans his arms on the table. It is odd to see him give in to such a … well, _normal_ gesture. Shepard is rapidly beginning to realize that humanity’s de facto leader is more worn-out still than even she feels. She may have been the tip of the spear, but Hackett was the one holding that spear.

‘I had a team search the Citadel when we were looking for you,’ he says, turning to face her. ‘They didn’t find you, naturally, but they found something else.’ He pauses, looking her squarely in the eye. ‘I had no idea the Illusive Man was there with you, Shepard.’

‘Trust me, it wasn’t my choice.’

‘I know that, Commander,’ Hackett says calmly.

Shepard sighs. ‘He appeared out of the blue, though it’s not hard to see how he gained access to the Citadel. Near the end, he was openly working together with the Reapers, and it showed.’

‘Yes. My team told me his body was … deformed.’

 _I need you to believe_ , he'd said, but she hadn't. The memory leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. _Shepard, I … I only wanted to protect humanity._

‘He was becoming a husk. He tried to convince me that he could control the Reapers, but he was indoctrinated and delirious. I was forced to shoot him in the end, when he threatened to kill Admiral Anderson.’ Thinking about that still gives her a lump in her throat.

‘That is the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, Shepard,’ Hackett says, not unkindly. ‘We found the Admiral’s body up there, too. We didn’t have much time or resources, but we at least made sure he was buried properly.’

‘Thanks,’ She blinks away the tears that are forming in her eyes despite her best efforts. ‘He would have wanted that. He did not deserve to be left among rubble and dead husks, with the likes of the Illusive Man sharing his tomb.’

She remembers him still. The crazed look in his eyes, the firm belief that he was right.

_No! I … I saved humanity!_

Hackett clears his throat, pulling her back from her dream world. ‘There is still some work to be done, but I can take you there later, if you want,’ he offers. ‘To … say goodbye.’

She clears her throat to dispel the last of the tears. ‘I’d like that, Admiral.’

Hackett clasps her shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. It is not quite enough to brush the weight of her ghosts off her back.

 

* * *

 

The dusty ground beneath which Anderson lies buried does not look very different from the dusty ground all around them, save for a small, hastily-constructed cross and a slight rise of the land.

_Feels like years since I just … sat down._

It does not feel like a grave.

_I think you’ve earned a rest._

Hackett hovers by her side. ‘Are you all right?’ he asks, concern evident in his voice.

Shepard shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t fit.’

‘What doesn’t fit?’

‘None of it does,’ she says, turning away from the dusty mound. ‘This victory … it’s … satisfying. Comforting. But it’s not right.’

The grave at the edge of her perception taunts her, a visible reminder of what she lost.

‘Shepard,’ he starts, and suddenly she can’t hear the sound of that name, can’t bear the weight of the responsibility associated with it, can’t tolerate the memories it summons.

She thinks of expressing this to Hackett, but says only: ‘My name is Jane.’

‘Jane,’ he agrees. ‘There’s a term for what you’re feeling. They call it survivor’s guilt.’

‘Is that it?’ she asks, but doesn’t agree.

‘No one could have done more than you did.’

‘Maybe.’

Hackett sighs. ‘The real work starts now, Jane. You saved this world. Now live on it.’

The wind picks up, playing with the dust on Anderson’s grave. Hackett wraps his arm around her, and she is grateful for the support it offers, for the comforting warmth that tells her she doesn’t always have to be somebody’s hero.

Her missing finger throbs.

 

* * *

 

The dream is different this time around. There is no little boy she can’t save now, no fire she can’t put out, no death she can’t prevent.

She is standing in front of the Defense Committee, feeling much as though she is facing a firing squad. The eyes of the committee members burn into her soul, uprooting all her buried mistakes. And worst of all, they’re waiting for her to tell them that everything will be all right, as though the Reapers are just another foe they can vanquish with conventional weapons. As if it’s as simple as that.

She hates knowing she is dreaming. She hates not being able to change a thing. She hates being forced to relive the failures of her life, over and over again.

_The moon? They couldn’t be that close already …_

_How’d they get past our defenses?_

_Why haven’t we heard from Admiral Hackett?_

_What do we do?_

Shepard screams, trying to drown out the chorus of voices in her head, and wakes to the sound of her own yelling.

But being awake is not much better than being asleep, now. Her ghosts do not leave her even in her waking hours, and the steady stream of whispers cannot be quieted, no matter how much she tries.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and Shepard lifts her face from the table she has fallen asleep at. A datapad falls from her limp hands, and clatters uselessly to the floor. Hackett is crouching next to her, and she feels the sudden, mad urge to kiss him, so she does.

He does not seem as surprised as she expected, but he does take her by the shoulders, peeling her away from his face. ‘What are you doing, Jane?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘But I thought it might quiet the voices of my memories for a while.’

Hackett seems interested. ‘And did it?’

Shepard considers. Nods. Hackett does not pull away like she expects him to.

She is beginning to suspect he might have some voices of his own to silence.

 

* * *

 

‘Something is not right,’ Miranda says, summing up Shepard’s feelings perfectly.

‘Slow down, Miss Lawson.’ Hackett sits at the head of the table, immovable as always, firmly in charge of even the unknown. ‘One thing at a time.’

Miranda throws a stack of datapads onto the table, severely startling some of the people present. Shepard catches one of the things as it slides past, just before it falls off the table. The screen is filled with schematics she cannot even begin to comprehend.

‘The Crucible,’ Miranda continues, as though it is painfully clear. ‘I don’t think it did what we expected it to.’

Hackett smiles wryly. ‘Don't tell me you anticipated the destruction of the relays.’

Miranda shakes her head. ‘Besides the point. When Shepard fired the Crucible, she thought she was destroying the Reapers. As did we all.’

‘I did destroy them,’ Shepard remarks, lowering the datapad to the table. ‘The husks of the Reapers still littering Earth are proof enough of that.’

‘Yes, you destroyed them here,’ Miranda says. ‘And we assumed that the blast was passed on via the relays, thus destroying the Reapers everywhere. But here’s the thing: I don’t think it did.’

Hackett frowns. ‘You mean the Crucible destroyed the relays but not the Reapers?’

Miranda nods. ‘The relays aren’t completely destroyed, though. They are still linked, even if only by a thread. But the readings we’ve collected suggest that the Crucible did not work as intended. The killing shot was not spread via the relays, as it was meant to.’

‘So what went wrong?’ Shepard asks.

‘Someone made a mistake,’ Kasumi answers from across the table.

‘Exactly.’ Miranda seems pleased. ‘I don’t know when. It’s possible the mistake has been present for centuries, though that seems somewhat unlikely.’

‘Can you fix it?’ Hackett asks, ever the practical one of them.

Miranda chews her perfect lip. ‘I don’t know. It will take time. And resources.’

Hackett makes a sweeping gesture. ‘You shall have them.’

Miranda collects her datapads and rushes out of the room in the blink of an eye, closely followed by Kasumi. Shepard meets Hackett’s eyes with a growing feeling of dread.

 

* * *

 

The nightmares grow worse, in a way. She no longer wakes up screaming in the night. Instead, she finds herself grasping in the darkness for something just beyond her reach, a half-remembered phrase dying on her lips.

Hackett notices. He always does. He takes her hand and guides it back to where her other hand is resting on her chest, over her pounding heart. His fingers brush the chain with the dog tags she wears like a talisman.

‘I still can’t believe they survived my death,’ Shepard says, her voice cracking.

‘I’m glad I passed them on to Doctor T’Soni,’ he answers, letting go of her hand.

She nods and closes her eyes, trying to chase the stray memory that fled in the face of full awareness. Hackett turns over, facing away from her. The beating of her heart slows beneath her hand as his breathing begins to even out.

‘Steven?’ she asks, staring into the darkness.

‘What?’ he mumbles, close to sleep.

‘How _did_ you get my dog tags? I thought the Alliance was not involved in the recovery of my body.’

Hackett groans, still facing away from her. ‘It’s a long story, and this is not the time to waste breath on it. Not when I feel like we’re all living on borrowed seconds anyway.’

She accepts the non-answer, doesn’t push for more, but in the recesses of her mind, something begins to stir.

 

* * *

 

It’s winter by the time Miranda comes up with an answer, and although Shepard can’t see it from aboard the ship, she fancies there is a white layer of snow coating the Earth below. Beneath that snow, the husks of dead Reapers still lie buried.

 _Will they awaken when the others come to get them?_ Shepard wonders, then decides she doesn’t want to know. By now, the Reapers may have taken Thessia again. Rannoch. Palaven. _How quickly do Reapers travel? How long does it take to decimate the population of a planet without defenses? How long does a fleet survive protecting a useless piece of space?_

 _I think you’ve earned a rest._ That’s what she told Anderson, not knowing the nightmare wasn’t over.

Miranda clears her throat. ‘We have found the solution to the problem with the Crucible.’

‘Or what we think is the solution anyway,’ Kasumi interjects. Miranda shoots her an annoyed look. ‘Can’t be too sure about that.’

Hackett shakes his head. ‘Is the Crucible still functional? The Citadel took quite a hit when it fired the first time.’

Shepard privately agrees with his worries. She all but blew up the Citadel the last time around, and most of the arms are barely holding together as it is.

‘It’s not pretty, but it will work,’ Miranda assures them.  ‘However, there is no telling what will happen when the Crucible is fired again. The Citadel may not be able to take the hit.’

‘What’s she’s trying to say,’ continues Kasumi, seemingly unperturbed, ‘is that whoever fires that thing probably won’t make it out.’

There is a long silence after that. Shepard almost breaks it, but she is not the first.

‘I will go,’ Hackett says. ‘We cannot afford any risks.’

All hell breaks loose then, but Shepard has seen the look on Hackett’s face before, and she knows he will not be deterred now.

 _Dead Reapers are how we win this._ And she has to see it through.

 

* * *

 

The Citadel is like a graveyard now, and despite her earlier words, Shepard is beginning to think this might have been a more fitting tomb for Anderson after all. The silence here is eerie and commands a certain respect that is lacking amidst the dust below on Earth.

Hackett walks ahead of her, one hand on his gun, even though they both know there is nothing alive in here now. Shepard shadows him, just as determined in her desire to go with him as he is in his to go alone. But she cannot stop now. She has to see this through.

Hackett pauses when he reaches the control room. It is almost surreal to be back in the place of her nightmares again, but then her life has always been filled with impossible things.

Hackett sounds confident when he speaks. ‘Let’s get these bastards, once and for all.’

She nods, not trusting herself to do anything else.

He strides toward the console with a brisk decisiveness, holding Miranda’s computer chip before him like a weapon. In the blink of an eye he is halfway across the room. Shepard tries to convince herself her hands aren’t shaking as she clumsily removes her gun’s safety, a task that seems infinitely harder now than it used to when she was naïve and _whole_. The weapon feels off in her left hand, the weight something she is not used to, and her phantom finger aches. Still, she raises the weapon, aims. It’s hard to miss; he’s still so close.

‘Stop,’ she says, and is astonished at the firmness of her tone.

Hackett stops, slowly, then turns around. His eyebrows furrow when he sees the gun in her hands. He raises his own hands in reply, a gesture of surrender Shepard is infinitely familiar with. ‘Jane, what are you doing?’

Though there is confusion in his voice, he never once sounds panicked. Shepard admires him for that still, for the eternal calmness that has saved him and scores of innocents time and time again. Whatever else may have been done to Hackett, they can’t take that away. They can’t take who you are, in the end. Not entirely.

 _I wish you could see it like I do, Shepard_. The voice of the last man she killed in this room still echoes all around her, a reminder of her failure. _It’s … perfect._

She has to confront her ghosts.

‘Stop,’ she says again, licking lips that have suddenly become dry. ‘Step away from the console.’

Hackett takes a tentative step towards her, hands still raised. ‘Jane, put away the gun. I’m not the enemy.’

An insane cackle starts somewhere in the back of her mind and resounds throughout her head. She swallows it before it gets to her mouth. Instead, she raises the gun a bit higher. ‘You had to sacrifice the entire second fleet, didn’t you? Give the others a chance to escape, you said? A curious tactic.’

His expression changes, becomes more guarded. ‘Shepard, what are you talking about?’

She ignores him. Her hands still tremble, throwing her aim off. ‘But that’s not the only curious thing. When I destroyed that relay in Batarian space to stop the Reapers from invading, I was there on _your_ orders. Alone. Why did I have to go alone, Steven?’

‘Jane …’ Hackett takes another step forwards, encroaching on her territory.

‘No! Stay back!’ She points the gun at his head, an obvious threat.

He pauses. ‘It was a sensitive mission. Only you could have pulled it off without causing a diplomatic incident.’

‘Only I couldn’t, could I?’ She takes a step to the side, circling Hackett in an attempt to put herself between him and the console. ‘Because when I got there, indoctrinated forces were waiting for me. And when I was done, having escaped death by the breadth of a hair, you told me I was “preaching to the choir” and refused my report. You refused the _only_ report that undeniably, irrevocably stated that the Reapers were coming!’

He backs away.  ‘You know the Council and the Alliance brass did not believe you, report or no.’

‘They never got a chance to, either.’ Shepard takes a step closer to him. ‘You sent Liara to the Mars Archives because you knew what she would find there. You sent me there to make sure the Crucible plans got out into the open.’

‘Jane …’

‘No, I see it now. You were always one step ahead.’ Her fingers tighten around the gun. ‘How did you know where to find the Crucible plans, Steven? How did you know where to build it so the enemy would not find out?’

_Why haven’t we heard from Admiral Hackett?_

Hackett slowly lowers his hands. ‘It was luck, Shepard. Equal parts luck and desperation.’

Shepard shakes her head. ‘I was wrong not to realize it before. Blinded, just like the rest. Even Anderson couldn’t see it … “Should a Reaper subvert a well-placed political or military leader, the resulting chaos can bring down nations.” That’s what it says in Alliance files about indoctrination, Steven. _That’s what it says._ ’

‘You’re not thinking straight, Jane.’ Hackett’s voice is still calm, but something flashes in his eyes, just below the surface. _Fear_. She knows it when she sees it.

‘No, I’m thinking straight for the first time.’ She stops circling. Hackett’s back is pressed against the console, the chip containing Miranda’s program still clutched tight in his hand. ‘They used you to set up all of this. I thought I was destroying them … But I wasn’t. I just destroyed the relays. And now they’re out there, preying on us, picking off star systems one by one. You trapped the fleet at the rendezvous point, our last defenses concentrated in a single spot, far away from their home systems. All the Reapers have to do now is point and shoot.’

Hackett whips out his gun faster than she would have believed possible. She still has her weapon pointed at him, too, but the gun feels alien in her hand, and the unfamiliar weight is already taking its toll on her muscles. His hand is steady, the barrel of the gun pointed squarely at her heart.

 _I should have taken him out while I was ahead._ But she couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

‘I wanted to help, Jane,’ he says, his voice wavering for the first time. ‘I wanted to do what was right.’

‘I know that, Steven. But they own you now.’ Anderson’s words feel strange on her tongue, but not wrong.

‘I didn’t mean for it to get this far,’ he says, as though she can grant him absolution.

‘You can still make this right,’ she pleads. ‘Drop the gun.’

‘No.’ He drops the computer chip instead, taking a hold of his weapon with both hands. ‘I’m going to destroy the Crucible, Jane. Walk away and live.’

 _He wants me to_ , she realizes. ‘I won’t. Die now or die when the Reapers find me; what’s the difference?’

His hands tighten around the gun. ‘Walk away, Jane.'

‘Never.’

_I wish you could see it like I do, Shepard._

He pulls the trigger. So does she.

He misses.

She doesn’t.

_It’s … perfect._

Hackett topples forward, collapsing below the console. Shepard laughs because she can’t cry anymore. The computer chip lies on the floor, beckoning her.

Hackett’s eyes beckon too. He looks much smaller as she approaches, not at all like the imposing military figure she is used to. Not like the beacon in the storm, the solitary leader, the strategist with all the answers. Not even like the man she may have come to love.

She kneels next to him, in the steadily growing pool of his blood. ‘Sorry,’ she says, as his eyes close. And: ‘I forgive you.’

She takes the chip and pushes it into the console. The screen is dark for a moment, then flashes bright with confirmation. The Citadel trembles beneath her feet, powering up the Crucible for the final time. The damaged structure shakes and groans, a skeleton climbing out of its grave to die a meter down the road.

There is no light when the Crucible fires, but Shepard feels the shock when the power releases, spreading out to all corners, a force that cannot be stopped. Not this time. When it’s gone, it leaves an emptiness that tastes of death.

‘You missed,’ she says, not sure whether she’s accusing or thanking him.

_Walk away, Jane._

The Citadel shudders as one of the arms breaks off, and the floor seems to disappear from beneath her feet. She falls down, next to where Hackett lies, silent now.

Another shudder, followed by the sound of an explosion.

Shepard raises her head and looks out the window. Pieces of debris fly by as the Citadel falls apart, crumbling inwards from the outer reaches, retreating back into itself. One of the larger chunks flies their way, gains momentum, impacts. The glass cracks.

Beyond the field of destruction the sun shines, casting tentative rays over a ruined Earth.

It’s quite a view.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a fill to a prompt on the ME kmeme, but I changed most of the specifics:
> 
> "Where Hackett is a reaper thrall or spy. I mean come on who didn't think he wasn't a reaper agent in Arrival? Prefer mshep and if you want to make the story cover arrival and a what if for the crucible fails and is a trap (that he knew about) that'd be cool too!"
> 
> I drew on several of the ideas of the Manipulation Theory to write this fic. The theory can be found here: http://social.bioware.com/forum/1/topic/355/index/11264403/1


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